


We're Broken (But Maybe It's Not So Bad)

by Strump



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, M/M, PTSD, Tears, a/b/o dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:47:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23102719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strump/pseuds/Strump
Summary: “I’m tired of running away, Stevie.” Bucky gives him a big, comforting smile, even as two young agents are timidly clasping large restraints over his wrists.Steve Rogers lost his mate decades ago. He's been lost ever since, and nobody knows that he's been an omega his whole life. Bucky reappears, and things are starting to look up.Just a small oneshot that popped into my head because I'm still angry about Endgame. Canon Divergence, Civil War never happened.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 5
Kudos: 58





	We're Broken (But Maybe It's Not So Bad)

Steve Rogers wanders listlessly through a century that isn’t his. He throws himself into any fight that he can, and his teammates see it, but can’t think of a way to bring it up to him, so they don’t. The media portrays him as patriotic, a man that won’t stop fighting for his country. But in reality, Steve Rogers, the man behind the Captain America persona, is _tired_.

He spends nights staring up at the ceiling mindlessly and blank, gets a few hours of sleep on good nights and stares numbly until his alarm goes off on bad nights.

His team is great. Natasha watches mind numbing procedural crime shows with him and drains what must be gallons of vodka, talks with him until she’s laughing so hard she’s snorting it out of her nose and he’s laughing a real laugh, face turned up and hand clutching at his chest. He likes those nights. Clint signs to him during meetings and Steve has to remind himself not to snort or smile while Tony debriefs. Tony takes him down to the lab, explains things that go over his head and shares exotic coffee with him. They talk about Tony’s dad before he turned into a drunk asshole, and Tony asks snarky questions about the USO tours that Steve answers wryly with a smirk. He enjoys movie nights with Bruce, and even finds himself spending time in the gym with Thor.

But, despite the respites of happiness, his life is generally without meaning. He thinks of Bucky more than is probably healthy and clams up during his mandated weekly therapy. Steve Rogers is a self-made man. He hadn’t needed therapy pre-serum, or during the war. Despite being frozen in a Nazi plane for 70 years, he doesn’t need it now either. Even when Bucky reappears as a Hydra assassin that has no memories of him or the life they shared together, Steve doesn’t talk about it. _“Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky.”_ It’s always been true. Bucky’s dog tags, the only thing they’d recovered when they’d gone back and searched for the body, hang against his chest all day every day, and when he needs a reminder of this, he reaches for them. The dented metal brings peace to his noisy mind, even if it’s just for mere moments.

Steve Rogers takes suppressants. Nobody knows. Nobody is supposed to know that the symbol of the nation is an omega. Sometimes, his fingers ghost along the scar on his neck and he shudders and forces himself not to cry. His mate is gone, and he wishes the stupid mark would disappear as well, but stubbornly it stays, a cruel reminder to the things that Steve has lost. Which is everything.

Steve runs. He runs, because the wind feels good against his face, and he remembers a time that feels less than ten years ago that he couldn’t run. He runs for miles and ends up in Brooklyn.

He’s sitting in a pizza parlor, one that hasn’t changed since the 30’s, when he smells that unmistakable scent. He freezes and looks up, and Bucky Barnes drops into the seat across from him in a red Henley, dark jeans, and gives him a smile from under his ballcap before reaching out with gloved hands to grab a piece of pizza and steal Steve’s coke.

“This place hasn’t changed at all, has it Stevie?” Bucky asks through a mouthful of the pizza, in a move that is just so Bucky-esque that Steve’s tears flow from his eyes and his big shoulders hunch over his ears. Bucky stands and crowds into his space, blocking curious onlookers, and wraps his arms around bulky, shaking shoulders. “I’m so sorry, my love.”

Steve watches as Nick speaks quietly to Bucky, eyes flickering over his shoulders to the big blond, shrinking in on himself in the small interrogation room.

“I’m tired of running away, Stevie.” Bucky gives him a big, comforting smile, even as two young agents are timidly clasping large restraints over his wrists. “It’ll be okay, sweetheart.” Steve’s mouth turns to ash as he watches Bucky disappear through the door, makes it two steps before dropping to his knees with a resounding thud that shatters his tenuous grasp on his emotions. He lets out a heartbroken howl that pierces through Nat like one of Clint’s arrows, and she immediately shoots sharp glares at the few baby-faced agents, who flee like ants, before carefully crouching in front of Steve. He leans towards her comforting scent, curls an arm around her shoulders, and she softly guides his face to the crook of her neck. Steve scents her like his life determines on it, and there are no words exchanged. Steve eventually climbs off of the floor and gives Natasha a strained smile before he disappears.

He doesn’t know how she does it, but several hours later there’s a chime at the door, Friday alerts him that Sargent Barnes is at his door and Steve nearly breaks it down trying to open it. Bucky grins at him, steps into the apartment and drops a backpack at the door.

“S’a nice place, Stevie.” Bucky complements, looking around. “Lot bigger than where we used to live, huh?” Steve chokes on air and can only manage a nod. Bucky gives him a small, sad smile. “We’ve sure got a lot to work on, don’t we?”

Bucky holds Steve that night as the blond sobs so hard it shakes the bed, lips ghosting over the old mating mark as he whispers apologies to skin and silently begs for forgiveness that he doesn’t deserve. When Steve stops crying, he leans up, slow and syrupy, to give Bucky a soft, loving kiss. Steve Rogers isn’t small anymore, Bucky can’t wrap himself around his tiny body while it shakes with cold, but it doesn’t matter. They’re both broken, but together, they can heal.


End file.
